


you will always have my heart

by themetgayla



Series: merthur fics [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur isn’t actually in it oops, Dense Arthur, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Merlin Is In Love, Mithian is rlly kind, Panic Attacks, he’s talked about a LOT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20066746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: “I like Arthur, Merlin, and I do not think I’ve done anything to warrant such dislike of me, do you not agree?”“N-No My Lady, of course not. I, um, well— it’s just—” He’s stuttering like a completely fool, as Arthur would say, but he doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He can’t just spew honest truths all over her as though she’s a shoulder to lean on. She’s the future Queen of Camelot, and he can’t stand in the way of that.“Merlin, it’s okay. I think I know why you dislike me so, actually. Can I— Can I make a guess?” Merlin nods mutely, heart hammering in his throat, squeezing painfully until he can’t breathe. “I think you’re in love with him.”Merlin’s heart stops.or, merlin is desperately in love, and mithian confronts him about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i was watching 4x11, The Hunter’s Heart, and i randomly had this idea when mithian pulled merlin up on his dislike for her. and it’s definitely not because gwen is meant to be queen, i can tell you that. i wrote this in like... two and a half hours, so if it sucks, that’s why.
> 
> i don’t own anything, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> (title from paris by sabrina carpenter)
> 
> **tw for panic attacks**

When Mithian approaches Merlin before the hunt, he immediately thinks he’s done for. Why would she approach him? Especially with such a contemplative frown deepening between her brows. He must have done something wrong, messed up somehow. She’ll tell Arthur and— god knows what he’ll do.

He’s been quieter recently, muscles constantly tense, posture rigid. His jokes are half-hearted, and he doesn’t order Merlin around nearly as much. He even gave him the night off the other day; Merlin nearly had a heart attack — something was surely wrong.

But any time he’s dared to approach Arthur, he’s been quickly pushed away and dismissed. Merlin doesn’t miss the flash of pain and desperation in the King’s bright eyes, and he can’t help but wish he could share some of the burden Arthur carries. It’s not right for someone so— so angelic and  _ golden  _ to have to shoulder so much.

And now Mithian is here, their impending marriage announced flatly by Arthur just yesterday. Merlin’s trying to be happy, he really is, but he just  _ can’t be _ .

How can he, when the man he  _ loves  _ is marrying a woman he barely knows for the good of the kingdom. It’s as though Uther is controlling him, forcing him to marry politically rather than for love, as he’s desired his whole life. Until now, it seems.

Merlin’s tried to talk him out of it; he’s not one to back down without a fight, but Arthur had been scarily stubborn about the whole thing, and had demanded he  _ get out of his sight _ .

Tears slid down Merlin’s cheeks that night, soaking into his pillow as his shoulders shook, unable to comprehend that the love of his life was about to be married. Out of his grasp forever.

Merlin knows nothing could ever happen between them — Arthur’s not only the King, a dozen stations higher than his lowly position as a servant, but they’re also both  _ men. _ It’s one of those things that goes unspoken, something frighteningly taboo to even bring up, but silently frowned upon.

Despite this knowledge firmly implanted at the forefront of his mind, Merlin can’t help the anxiety that bubbles up in his throat and the tears welling up in his eyes whenever he thinks about it for too long.

He’s content to love Arthur from afar, protecting him with his life, content in the knowledge that he’d happily die for the King in a split second. But now Arthur’s getting  _ married _ , things are different.

Princess Mithian would be by his side  _ always _ . Merlin would probably be dismissed from his position, Arthur too distracted and head-over-heels in love to pay any attention to him anymore.

Merlin knows Arthur doesn’t love Mithian— he’s not  _ in love  _ with her anyway. Nevertheless, the Princess seems to like him a lot, so that’s probably all that matters.

When Mithian lays a gentle hand on Merlin’s arm, he’s startled out of his slightly anxious thoughts and he turns to her, fake smile plastered on his face. “Uh, can I help you, My Lady?” He asks politely.

(Arthur had given him a brief lecture before her arrival that he absolutely couldn’t address her as though she was him. He’d admitted, almost reluctantly, that they were friends, which thus called for slightly different behaviour— but behaviour that could  _ not  _ be displayed in front of princess Mithian.)

“Yes, actually, Merlin,” she says kindly, guiding him to the edge of the hall, tucked out of the way from passing knights. “It’s not escaped my notice that you’re not too fond of me,” she begins, apprehension creeping into her tone.

Merlin opens his mouth to interrupt, because  _ oh god Arthur’s going to kill him _ . How could he have been so obvious?

Mithian holds to her hand to silence him, and continues. “I like Arthur, Merlin, and I do not think I’ve done anything to warrant such dislike of me, do you not agree?”

“N-No My Lady, of course not. I, um, well— it’s just—” He’s stuttering like a completely  _ fool _ , as Arthur would say, but he doesn’t know what to say. What  _ can  _ he say? He can’t just spew honest truths all over her as though she’s a shoulder to lean on. She’s the future Queen of Camelot, and he can’t stand in the way of that.

“Merlin, it’s okay. I think I know why you dislike me so, actually. Can I— Can I make a guess?” Merlin nods mutely, heart hammering in his throat, squeezing painfully until he can’t  _ breathe _ . “I think you’re in love with him.”

Merlin’s heart stops.

It restarts after a second, but it’s enough to force him to take deep, gasping breaths to push oxygen into his lungs. His chest rises and falls rapidly, shoulders shaking with sporadic breaths.

Mithian looks vaguely alarmed, but almost as though she anticipated such a reaction, because she keeps her hands to herself and simply instructs him to breathe deeply, cooing soft reassurances in that silky voice of hers.

It takes him a while to reduce his panic into small, shuddery breaths, but she stays calm and focused the whole time, guiding him down from the panic attack. (Merlin takes a wild guess and thinks she’s rather experienced.)

“I—I’m sorry, My Lady. I didn’t mean to waste your time on such a thing,” he says, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment. Mithian could very well go and tell Arthur about his panic attack, and about— “You won’t tell, Arthur, will you? I… Please, you can’t. I’ll be banished and I— oh god, you  _ can’t  _ tell him.” Merlin can tell he’s getting worked up again, breaths coming in short bursts and tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

“Merlin, I won’t tell Arthur, it’s okay.” Her voice is serious, sincere; she’s telling the truth.

“Thank you,” Merlin murmurs, ducking his head to avoid meeting the Princess’ inquisitive gaze.

“Now Merlin, if I marry Arthur, as he wishes us to, you’ll hate me forever, won't you?” Annoyingly, Mithian doesn’t sound at all angry, nor hurt. She’s an ever calm presence, the anchor in a storm.

It feels wrong to outright agree with her, but he can’t lie, can he? She’ll see right through him, since he’s apparently rather transparent with his feelings.

(It seems Arthur’s the only one who hasn’t caught on.)

“I mean, I—”

“I have my answer,” Mithian says softly. “I shall leave tomorrow.”

Merlin freezes. _What?_ _Mithian, leaving?_ “I’m sorry, My Lady, but _what_?” He doesn’t quite know what to think — why would the Princess leave and abandon a politically perfect marriage just because of his feelings for the King? It’s not as though anything would happen; Arthur has to marry at some point, and it may as well be Mithian.

“I don’t want to get in the way of you two.”

Merlin can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his throat. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing to get the way of, My Lady. There’s nothing between us, and there never will be. Arthur’s the King of Camelot while I’m only his servant, and even if that wasn’t an issue, we’re both men, in case that escaped your attention.” His tone is bitter, he knows that, but he can’t help it — nothing will  _ ever  _ happen, and by the gods it  _ hurts _ more than any injury he’s ever sustained.

“Merlin, I think you’re mistaken. Arthur’s in love with you, can’t you see that? He values your opinion more than anyone’s, I saw that at breakfast yesterday. The love in his eyes… it was a sight I’ve never seen before.” A wistful smile graces Mithian’s face as she speaks; she truly believes what she’s saying.

Merlin, on the other hand, has no idea what to say. Arthur? In love with him? Absolutely not. Arthur barely puts up with him as his servant, let alone as anything more. There’s no way in  _ hell _ Arthur could ever return his love.

He settles for laughing, because he’s sure Mithian has no idea what she’s saying. For a split second, he wonders if perhaps… but no, definitely not. “I don’t think so, My Lady. But, uh, Arthur will be very confused if you leave now — what will you tell him? He won’t take it lightly, you know. And, um, you’d make a great Queen, by the way.”

Princess Mithian smiles lightly, corners of her mouth twitching with a giggle, and she appears thoughtful for a moment. “I shall tell him that he loves another, and that he must figure out who that is to achieve the pure love he so desires. He’ll work it out someday, Merlin, he’s just very…”

“Thick?”

“Merlin!” Mithian feigns a shocked gasp, but a fleeting laugh replaces it. “But yes, you’re right. He seems a little dense when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Oh, he is. You should have seen him four years ago — he was such an arrogant prat. It took me a good three years to even get him to express some kind of personal emotion. I suppose we have Uther to thank for that.” Merlin knows he’s speaking out of turn, words that could be considered treason, but he’s confident Mithian won’t say anything, and perhaps she privately agrees.

“I’m not surprised. Uther was a cruel man,” Mithian says quietly, looking almost pained as the words fall from her lips. Merlin tilts his head curiously, silently pushing further. “My mother… she was a sorceress. I was born in a small village in Nemeth, not into royalty as everyone believes. During the Great Purge, Uther sent people all over the country to slay those he considered witches, including my mother. Once she died, the King took me into his care — I consider him my father now, though biologically he isn’t. My mother was a  _ good woman _ . She used her magic to heal people in the village, to produce fruitful crops, to scare away bandits. And Uther took her from me when I was  _ three _ .”

Mithian has tears glistening in her eyes when she finishes, fingers pressing at her throat as she chokes down a quiet sob. Merlin’s crying too, thick tears sliding down his pale cheeks as his soul aches for the death of Mithian’s mother. He’d thought that hearing of Uther’s merciless executions so frequently would have made it easier over the years, but it hasn’t. It still hurts like hell to hear of his own kind being slaughtered for the harmless use of their magic.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispers, at a loss for what else to say.

Mithian turns to him then, eyes glossy but focused. “He loves you, Merlin, he just doesn’t see it yet. Hang in there; he will soon enough.” She reaches out and squeezes his hand lightly, a reassurance and a promise.

Merlin hopes she’s right.


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which arthur starts touching merlin innocently, and they finally confront their feelings for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by popular demand, i’m back with a second chapter! y’all wanted arthur figuring out his feelings so... here it is :)

Mithian’s words stay with Merlin for the next month, clinging to him like a limpet as he goes about his daily chores, haunting him at night in dreams and nightmares alike.

Arthur still seems none the wiser to his feelings, still strutting around with that easy confidence. He’s a good king, a  _ really good _ one. Merlin stands by his side and serves him with a pride he’s never felt before. It burns and bubbles in his chest and he even finds himself tearing up on the odd occasion; he makes sure to hide the proud tears from Arthur, lest he want to be called a  _ wet blanket _ , or whatever else it is Arthur likens him with.

Something has changed though.

Merlin can’t quite put his finger on what it is, but it almost feels like Arthur is being kinder. What gives Merlin that impression, he has no idea, but something just  _ does _ .

Perhaps it’s the evenings off Arthur’s starting  _ offering  _ him, given seriously, along with a softly spoken comment that Merlin looks ill or tired or even just that he deserves an evening to himself.

It’s confusing, because Arthur’s never offered him a day off, let alone given him one when he’s asked. But since Mithian’s visit, there’s been a subtle shift in the atmosphere between them, and Merlin wonders what she actually said to him.

He expects nothing much, nothing more than what she told him she’d say, but surely Arthur wouldn’t change so much with no prompting. Arthur’s not  _ that  _ self-aware.

Nonetheless, Merlin gladly takes the evenings off, and sometimes in return surprises Arthur with a nicer breakfast, or polishing his armour without being told to. The shift kind of just  _ happened _ , and it’s as easy as it was before.

Merlin’s found himself to be more apprehensive though, always wondering if Arthur’s suddenly going to go back to how he was a month ago, working him until he collapsed (Merlin’s never told Arthur about that) and yelling orders whenever he felt like it.

Now he’s… kind, soft, almost. He seems to consider Merlin more, as an equal, as more than his servant. It’s rather unnerving; Merlin’s never sure whether the King is just pulling his leg, or whether he actually  _ has _ changed.

Merlin won’t take it for granted though. He knows this is closest he’ll ever get to being  _ something more  _ with Arthur, and he takes it greedily.

* * *

They continue like that for another month or so — Arthur gifting Merlin an evening off a week, Merlin surprising him with taxing chores done without prompting. It’s easy.

Until one day, it gets harder.

(For Merlin, anyway.)

Arthur begins  _ touching  _ him. It’s completely innocent, of course, just a subtle linger on his wrist as they talk, a friendly pat on his shoulder, a squeeze of his bicep in thanks.

Merlin’s used to touching Arthur, of course, but Arthur touching him? It’s very new and he isn’t sure whether he likes it.

Well, he does, of course. Of course he likes being touched by the love of his life, but it  _ hurts _ . It hurts to be touched so kindly, so gently, by Arthur, only to remember once he’s left the King’s room that they’re only  _ friends _ , and nothing more.

It’s manageable for a while,  _ barely,  _ but it is. Merlin manages to keep his mouth shut and endure Arthur’s ‘friendly’ touches, his heart soaring and plummeting with each wisp of contact.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out though — Arthur’s touches grow bolder and more affectionate with each passing week, and Merlin’s been forced to start avoiding him, his anxiety a tight knot in his chest. It hurts more and more with each growing touch, with Arthur’s growing confidence.

The King has started asking him for his advice more often, consulting him on matters of the council that are usually reserved for the noblemen and the elite squad of knights. Merlin complacently goes along with it, though he’s privately confused and just wants to ask Arthur  _ why _ .

He’s tried once before, and all he got was  _ I’m the King Merlin, I can do what I like _ . And that had been that.

Arthur’s also taken to having two meals brought to his room, exclaiming one day, horrified, that Merlin looked malnourished and as though he might keel over any day now. It’s under the ruse of  _ It’s hard to find a half-decent servant these days, I need you _ , but it’s what’s not said that Merlin wonders about.

Mithian can’t be right though, can she? The past few months would suggest she was, though Merlin’s finding it increasingly more difficult to believe the King of Camelot may harbor a silly crush on him. It’s just not realistic, in any world.

Frustrated, Merlin pushes the thoughts into a box and locks it up in the corner of his mind; he resolves to stop thinking about Arthur, and whether the King may  _ like  _ like him.

It doesn’t get him very far, though, because the next day, Arthur does something he’s never done before, something quite frankly  _ dangerous _ .

He kisses him.

Not on the lips, but a chaste peck in the corner of his mouth. Merlin tears up on the spot; he can’t keep living in this damn limbo, unable to have Arthur but enduring the affectionate touches lovers might share.

“Merlin, what’s wrong?” Arthur takes Merlin’s hands in his, concern swirling in his bright eyes.

The touch only hurts Merlin more, and he flinches backwards, clutching his hands to his chest as though burned.

“Don’t,” he chokes, a sob crawling up his throat, catching on his tongue.

“Don’t what? Have I— Have I done something?” Arthur suddenly looks incredibly guilty, an expression that barely used to even flicker across his face. Now it makes its presence known, and it throws Merlin a little.

“N-No, it’s just— Stop  _ touching  _ me,” Merlin begs, tears rolling down his cheeks as he backs away until his knees hit the edge of Arthur’s bed. He falls back on his hands, shoulders shaking from his deep, wracking sobs.

“Gods Merlin, why didn’t you say before? I mean they’re only friendly touches, but uh, if you really hate them, I’ll stop.” Merlin doesn’t miss the hurt that flashes through Arthur’s eyes, quickly replaced with barely concealed disappointment.

“Friendly touches?” Merlin gasps, shocked. “Arthur, you touch me like— like we’re  _ lovers _ ,” he spits, overcome with a sudden pained rage. “You— You touch me like I’ve never been touched before and it— Arthur it  _ hurts _ .”

Arthur blinks owlishly, shocked at the accusation. “Why does it hurt? I don’t understand?” He skips over the other comment; they can address that later. But if Merlin’s in pain, he wants to do everything he can to take that away.

“It hurts because I love you, you  _ clotpole _ , but there’s no hope of you ever loving me back because—” Merlin yells, sniffling, eyes wet and wide.

“Because what, Merlin? Because I’m King? Because I’m a man? Because  _ what _ ?” Arthur’s trembling. He runs a hand through his hair and digs his nails into his scalp, jaw clenched tightly.

“Because of both of those,” Merlin answers quietly, timidly. Arthur hasn’t said anything about his confession; it hurts despite him having known for five years that nothing would ever come of it, that Arthur simply couldn’t love him back. But now he has confirmation, loud and clear, and it’s like a dagger to the heart no matter how many times Merlin has tried, without success, to bury his feelings for the King.

A smile flickers at Arthur’s lips, and he visibly deflates, tense muscles loosening. “Well you’re wrong. I  _ do  _ love you back, you idiot.” His voice is soft, uncharacteristically so.

Merlin freezes. It takes all his self-control to not to leap upon Arthur that second and shake the truth out of him. “Do you mean that? Or is this just a game to you? Am I just a little toy you think you can mess around with because you’re the King?”

He doesn’t know if Arthur’s serious and he hates it. Logic screams at him that no — Arthur  _ can’t  _ be serious. Or perhaps that’s the voice of Uther, bitter and old, screaming in his head that a man lying with another man is sinful and wrong. But the problem that their stations are of drastic opposites is definitely not Uther’s cruel voice, it’s the truth.

Arthur looks hurt at the notion that he would ever use Merlin in such a way, and drops his gaze down to his feet, before dragging it back up slowly. “I do mean it. It’s not just a game to me, it never was, and never will be,” he says, the honesty bleeding into the words, reassuring Merlin somewhat.

“I— Okay then. Okay.”

“Can I kiss you now?” Arthur looks at him hopefully, blue eyes bright like the sky, smile golden like the sun. Merlin nods mutely, before leaning in.

Mithian was right.

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you thought! might do a second part if people ask for it. maybe of arthur realising he loves merlin? anyway! comments and kudos fuel me :)


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